The Feast of Turuhalmë
by Elentari0719
Summary: The holidays are widely celebrated in the realms of the Elves too...just not in the way you might expect. A *short* Yule story just for fun, taking place in the Woodland Realm after the events of the Battle of the Five Armies.


_This is a little something I decided to post as a New Year's gift to all of you. Honestly, reactions to my first story, "In Starlight," have taken me quite by surprise. I was not expecting such an enthusiastic response and so, was not prepared to have such a demand for my writing! As such, I am still trying to make progress with the next update. To tide you over, I thought I would provide this little piece I'd written just for fun, dealing with the holidays in the world of the Elves. It takes place back in Mirkwood after the Battle of the Five Armies. And as anyone who's ever lost a loved one knows, the holidays can be quite bittersweet. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this little taste of Middle Earth. I will see you all soon with another update for "In Starlight." Please check it out if you haven't already! Thanks for your support and happy reading!_

_P.S. For anyone interested, the Feast of Turuhalmë is in fact a canonical piece of Tolkien. I did not make it up and so claim no credit for its creation._

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**The Feast of Turuhalmë**

The gathering was subdued this year. The air held memories of all-too-recent events, memories which darkened lamps, quieted voices, and dragged at hearts. It had been unsure whether or not the feast would be held this year. But even the fresh scars of battle wounds and newly absent comrades could not eliminate the Yuletide spirit of the Woodland Realm.

The feast of Turuhalmë, or the Logdrawing, was the Eldar celebration of the winter solstice. It was a time to reflect on the year passed as they turned to face the impending dawn of a new one. A time for merriment and celebration, Yule called for the richest of foods, the lightest of songs, and the gayest of dances. Yet heavy on all minds this year was the remembrance that the solstice marked not only the birth of a new year-but the death of an old one.

Still, Galion, the king's steward, had outdone himself with planning a marvelous feast. The tables laid out in the Halls of the Elvenking groaned with the weight of the food placed on them. Smoked venison surrounded by roasted pheasants were the centerpiece of the tables, complemented by platters of the plumpest fruits and vegetables grown in the palace's gardens, tureens of steaming soups, and towering cakes and desserts. And of course, the famed wine of the Woodland Realm was flowing, ensuring that no one's goblet remained empty for long.

The chambers echoed with the clang of platters and utensils as the celebrants tucked into the magnificent repast. Laughter and conversation bounced off the stone walls, muted, but still there.

The night drew on, the white winter moon rising higher and higher into the sky. Minstrels performed between courses, their nimble fingers dancing over the strings of their instruments as their bright voices sang out. Here and there, groups swayed to the music, the joy of the celebration allowing the burden of the past to be lifted just for a moment.

Finally, the songs were exhausted and the plates were emptied. The hall fell silent as the figure at the head of the table rose from his throne. All eyes turned to the Elvenking, resplendent in his flowing silver robes, elaborate crown resting on his golden head. He stood on the dais, slate grey eyes resting on his people gathered below him. A sea of faces looked back at him, dark eyes expectant. Yet there were not as many faces as there should have been. Too many seats were empty. Most conspicuously, the gilded throne to the king's right sat abandoned.

Thranduil was silent for a long moment. It was tradition for him to address his people at the feast, praising their efforts of the year before and planning for the one to come, then drinking as the solstice tipped the past into the present. But now was a time beyond tradition.

Now, he raised his goblet to the elves assembled before him, holding the silver chalice high in the air for all to see. His voice rang out through the hall, clear and strong. "To absent friends." He lowered his gaze to the eyes of his people, until each one felt as though their king spoke to them, and them alone.

"Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham." _Our hearts shall weep until we see them again._

And then he sought out one figure in particular. His piercing stare rested on the bowed russet head that sat alone in the corner of the hall. The space to the king's left seemed to throb with emptiness.

The Elvenking's next words were aimed directly at the lone elf. "The fortunes of the world will rise and fall. But we-" The elleth's head rose.

"-in this realm-"

Tauriel's misty eyes met Thranduil's.

"-shall endure."

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Thranduil lowered his head in a deep nod to Tauriel. Closing her eyes against the sting that stabbed at them, she nodded back. Standing, she was the first to raise her glass in a toast back to her king, as the rest of the inhabitants of the Woodland Realm followed suit.

Dark eyes and a bright smile were foremost on her mind as she drank to the year behind. And light blue ones, accompanied by a flash of blonde hair, filled her thoughts as she paid tribute to the year to come.

_To absent friends. _Tauriel prayed to the Valar, her heart freed from the dim light of the Elvenking's halls, drifting across realms to be with the two she loved most. She watched as the Yule logs crackled and popped, sparks from the roaring fire drifting upwards, out the chimney to float free in the chill night air, their only witnesses the cold pure light of the stars shining above.

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_Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Watch for more Tauriel adventures in "In Starlight: Chapter Three," coming soon! If you like it, please review! If you hate it, please review! :)_


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